


Unimaginable Loss

by sadieHD



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Coruscant, Coruscant: Underworld, Glee Anselm, Nautolan, Post-Order 66, theres really not a whole lot goin on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieHD/pseuds/sadieHD
Summary: Former Jedi Master Kit Fisto struggles with reclaiming his life after the Jedi Purge. He starts by going back to his roots- to Glee Anselm.





	1. The Dog and the Scum

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! This is for the Mini Star Wars Gift Exchange 2017 for aerefyr. I might make this into a series because there was a lot of stuff I didn't get to work into this piece. Let me know if anyone's interested in reading that!

Aaron flew through the doors of the bar, crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Grimacing, he spat behind him and wrapped a hand around his ribs delicately. “Bastards,” he hissed, withdrawing his hands. Those dipshits had broken a rib, maybe two. He winced as he drew himself up, brushing at the mud on his cloak absentmindedly.

He looked back at the filthy bar. He supposed he shouldn’t be so judgmental, considering the street was covered with at least an inch of sewage sludge in even the cleanest parts of the Coruscant Underworld, but he wasn’t feeling very congenial at the moment. The flickering purple lights above the doors advertising the entrance weren’t doing such a stellar job; the sign blended in with the usual unnatural lights radiating the lower levels, poisoning its citizens with the synthetic replacement for sunlight they weren’t given access to- even if the lights weren’t doing a goddamn thing to illuminate the dark abyss. Aaron brushed off the thought, knowing he’d need another drink if he kept thinking about the people who lived their entire lives without seeing the surface. And right now the closest available drinks were on the other side of three particularly burly Besalisk. 

Aaron huffed and rubbed his sore arms where they’d inevitably left bruises grabbing him with their sausage fingers. Fuck. That. Shit, he thought as he turned away and started down the street.

-

The maze of the Underworld was not something to be taken lightly. It was some kind of running joke that the reason so many never saw the surface again after entering the Underworld was because they simply couldn’t find their way back. Aaron didn’t find it very funny- both because he pitied the lost souls if the joke was true and he didn’t like the implication of the fate if it wasn’t. 

Nonetheless, the point was still taken. While locals had a fairly good idea of where they were within a good fifty mile radius of their home (horizontally, that is- most people didn’t go more than four floors up or down of their residence) and people who’d been born down there could easily navigate 100 miles and survive long enough to make it home no more than 200 miles, most off-worlders or surface dwellers couldn’t so much as leave a trail of breadcrumbs and make it back to where they started. And not just because you’d have a swarming herd of kids picking up your scraps or some seven-foot thug find you and kill you for the bread. 

For all of the quote unquote progress that Coruscant represented for the galaxy, there was no order to be found even in the foundation of the Underworld. Aaron couldn’t even blame the Empire for the hellhole he lived in. The winding, unorganized ruins of whatever ecumenopolis preceded modern Coruscant was now nothing short of a deadly labyrinth infested with starving families, two-penny crime lords, and other vermin. The first dozen levels had become nothing more than an entire layer of uninhabitable garbage-ridden marsh full of shit and trash from the upper levels. Aaron dreaded to think what would happen when that filthy soup crawled it’s way up to the industrial levels, where generators working constantly to run whatever machines were needed on the surface made the entire Underworld feel alive with constant noise, warmth, and steady movement. 

The streets became more crowded as he approached the station. He pulled his hood tighter over his head instinctively, covering his face from passersby. As if his face wasn’t automatically recognizable, the tattoos would certainly draw attention. Still, he pressed through the crowd that was steadily growing as he approached the train. Aaron knew taking the public line was a risk- the cars were brightly lit, allowing more chance for recognition. Truthfully, he didn’t really care any more. He just wanted to get home and he didn’t feel like walking half a dozen miles with broken ribs.

He stumbled into the car, thankful that it wasn’t as crowded as usual. He didn’t think he could handle being stuffed with dozens of other people like a bunch of animals waiting to be slaughtered without at least six more drinks. Despite the array of open seats he decided to stand. He winced as he raised his arm to hold onto the overhead bar; the movement had bothered his ribs. He ignored the pain and glanced around the car, assessing his surroundings out of habit. 

A twi’lek woman and her child caught his eye. The boy was no more than six and he seemed to be content playing with his stuffed animal. His joyful cries were hushed by the mother, who ran her hands over his head tails lovingly. She looked tired. The bags under her eyes were dark and she was too thin- he’d seen slaves that were better fed. Likely she gave all the food she managed to scrape up to her son and whatever other mouths she had to feed. 

With something resembling curiousity (he knew better than to fool himself into thinking he really cared about anything anymore), he noticed her clothing. The tunic, while certainly dirty and mended many times over, was made of valuable cloth and the intricate designs on the side were similar to the markings frequently worn by the ensemble of diplomats sent by the citizens of Ryloth. They’d been “disbanded” after the anti-alien prejudice had made its way to the depths of the senate, effectively razing any sort of committee focused on the betterment and better treatment of off-worlders on Coruscant. With vague interest he wondered how this woman had managed to escape- with a child, no less. Assuming she hadn’t just stolen the tunic from a rotting corpse, which was definitely more likely. 

Before he could even decide to start thinking about it, a small squadron of stormtroopers boarded the car and began walking the aisles, shoving passengers and demanding IDs. Cursing under his breath, Aaron pulled his hood closer over him and tried to cover his face. He didn’t feel like encountering a group of armed soldiers today. He slowly worked his way through the crowd, pushing to the other end of the train, hoping they wouldn’t see him. 

Of course, with his luck…

“You! ID, now!” The barked order was broken coming through the filtered speaker. Aaron didn’t look up or so much as acknowledge the command. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” The stormtrooper gripped his arm.

So much for getting home quietly, he thought. He brought his elbow down in the crook of armor on the assailant’s arm, bending it unnaturally. The trooper howled, alerting the other guards, before Aaron twisted his leg around him, bringing the soldier to his knees. Aaron brought the trooper’s head to his knee before grabbing the unconscious soldier’s gun and thrusting himself through the crowd, shoveling people out of the way. 

The crowd parted and clung to the walls, but otherwise showed no indication of the tussle. It was a common enough occurrence. No one tried to stop the stormtroopers, but no one tried to stop Aaron either. 

Another guard had grabbed Aaron’s arm, apparently not learning from the former’s mistake. He repeated the motion, but this one leaped back after the wounding, yanking off Aaron’s cloak as he did so. Aaron cursed. “Clone!” the trooper shouted to the others. He stepped further back, speaking into his communicator. “We’ve got another renegade clone on level 337, line RT3 heading-“

Aaron grunted as he slammed the butt of the stolen gun into the soldier’s helmet, knocking him unconscious. The other soldiers were pushing their way through the crowd, but the passengers were, if anything, shoving them forward. Aaron looked around widely. People were huddled against the wall, clinging to each other and looking at the clone in fear. They all remembered what had happened. What he had done. Aaron winced. 

This wasn’t the time to be thinking of that, though. He had a much easier time maneuvering the crowd now that everyone shrank from him like he was diseased. Aaron made his way to the door, though the train wouldn’t make its next stop for another ninety seconds. A quick glance behind him at the guards told him he didn’t have that kind of time. 

Grimacing, he flicked off the safety and shot at the doors, blasting them open. People screamed and covered their ears- as used to gunfire as they were, no civilian is used to gunfire in an enclosed space like that. Aaron’s own ears were ringing. He couldn’t hear the train hurdling forward, but he could certainly feel the gusts of wind through the now doorless exit. Luckily everyone else on the train, including the stormtroopers, were still recovering from the burst of noise. Aaron stepped towards his exit, gripping both edges of the doorframe tightly. He looked out- they were going over a platform any second now. 

Aaron flinched as a hand grabbed his arm. He turned towards his assailant, ready to attack. “Don’t,” the twi’lek woman urged in a heavy accent. She thought he was committing suicide. Oh, blessed soul, he thought to her fondly, I don’t have the bravery for a stunt like that. Instead he said nothing, giving a comical two-finger salute before falling out of the train.

Aaron fell hard on his shoulder, but he threw himself forward so he’d keep rolling on his side until he finally came to a stop. He crawled to a wall, using it as support to draw himself to a stand. He touched his shoulder lightly. Dislocated. Angrily, he slammed the palm of his hand into his shoulder, forcing it back in the socket painfully. He looked back to the tracks and spat, watching the glimmer of the train continue in the distance. 

With a sense of disgust, for himself, his situation, and those around him, he continued on. He’d never been to this particular station before, but thankfully he still knew the way home. He limped forward. His knee wasn’t too bad- but the soldier’s armor was thicker than he remembered. Then again, he wasn’t really dealing with much more than bar fights and street brawls nowadays.

-

As he approached his second hour wandering the streets, he came across another dead end. Sighing, he collapsed against the wall and slid down, not really caring what kind of grime got on his cloak. Two fights ending with him getting tossed into the street and two hours of failed memory later and he was fucking exhausted. He might as well just sleep on the street. If anyone wanted to mug him, let them the take the six credits he hadn’t spent at the bar. If anyone wanted to kill him, they’d be doing him a favor. He shut his eyes.

“My my, it looks like I’ve finally got company.”

If anyone wanted to bother him, they’d be in for it. Just slit my throat or be done with it, he thought.

“I’ve got nothing to slit your throat with, I’m afraid. Nor do I have any mind to mug you. Six credits would be a lousy reward anyway, for the extent of my troubles.”

Aaron frowned. Had he really said those things out loud? Well, he supposed going completely bonkers wasn’t out of the picture.

“No, you’re quite sane, as far as I can tell.”

Aaron opened his eyes at last, with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. He sat up, but didn’t come to a full stand. It took him a moment to notice the raggedy figure sitting on a rotted box. He couldn’t make out anything beyond the badly weathered cloak- it had certainly seen better days, that’s for sure, if it was even a cloak at all. He didn’t see any weapons, but there could be a small gun or knife concealed somewhere.

The creature moved its head. “Come now, do I really seem like much of a threat to you?” The voice seemed aged and hoarse, but somehow Aaron could just tell the man was grinning. Aaron doubted he wanted to see the state of this guy’s teeth. 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” 

The figure laughed. Aaron was caught off guard by the sudden outburst. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I was a general in the Clone Wars, after all.”

Great, this fucking dumbass thinks he’s a Jedi. Just what I need right now. Another crazy. Aaron leaned back against the wall, too tired to argue. “Right, right. I’m sure you were in all sorts of battles.”

“Oh yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I was in all sorts of battles. But the battles weren’t the good parts.”

“Oh, there were good parts, were there?” Aaron closed his eyes, trying not to think about why he was appeasing the crazy old man.

“Well, you wouldn’t remember. You’re a clone- you never knew us before the war.”

“’Us’ being the Jedi?”

“Why, yes!”

Aaron huffed. “Tell me, if you’re a Jedi, how come you haven’t killed me yet?”

“I should be asking that question. After all, you were the ones who started the massacre.” Aaron tensed. He didn’t like thinking about that time. “I mean in a fight between the two of us, you’re more likely to win considering the historical aspects.”

“Would you like to try and prove your theory?” 

“Ah, you spent time with Master Plo, I see.”

Aaron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you think that?”

“Am I wrong?” The figure took his silence as affirmation. “He was a good friend of mine. But you are no wolf.”

The man might be crazy, but he knew at least something about the war. Aaron shrugged to himself. No harm in humoring an old man. “I was once. An injury turned me into a dog.”

“Ah, a Coruscant guard. Strange to see a lost pup all the way down here.”

Aaron snorted at the ‘lost pup’ comment. While a little humiliating, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “I could say the same thing for a Jedi.” As insane as the man was, he was entertaining and he hadn’t killed him yet and Aaron was tired and didn’t mind the company. With a start he realized this was probably the longest conversation he’d had with a sentient being in maybe years.

“If you want to know how I got down here, I’m afraid it’s a rather long, sad story.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. 

“I thought you were just going to get into it.”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“You’ve practically dragged me into this conversation. I figured you were more than happy to continue doing so.”

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?”

“By all means, continue.”

The figure turned to him and for the first time Aaron noticed he hadn’t even been looking at the clone. “What is your name, child?”

Child? Though he supposed in standard years he’d only be in his twenties. “Aaron,” he answered quietly. 

The figure bowed its head respectfully. “Very well, Aaron. If it a story you want, I will tell it. But it is not my own.”

Aaron huffed, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.


	2. Lost Child

Kit’s eyes shot open. The first thing he noticed was the searing pain in his side. The second was that he was being pulled through the hallway by clones, thought they were not any clones he recognized. These were not the compassionate, valiant men he’d come to know the past five years; they were cold, impassive, and distant in a way that frightened the disoriented Jedi.

Yet he knew he couldn’t allow his fear to compound him. He drew in the Force and shoved the imposters into the distant wall, rendering them unconscious. Blearily, the Nautolan quickly assessed his surroundings. He was in the red hall connecting the Supreme Chancellor’s private study to his formal meeting office. The windows had been shattered and glass littered the far end of the room. In the distance the Jedi Temple was in flames.

In flames? It was then that Kit noticed the pain, not in his body, but in the air around him. It was suffocating, the screams of Jedi pouring into his lungs and drowning him. His world, so full of life and color, was suddenly empty. Nothing but fire remained. His heart wrenched as he felt desperately for someone, anyone. Looking back he could see the dark colors of the Chancellor’s study as well as too motionless robbed figures. 

He brought his hand to his head, trying to shake away the darkness that clouded his mind. He could faintly remember going to confront Palpatine with Mace, Agen, and Saesee. Mournfully, Kit gazed at the bodies of what could only be his two friends, wondering if Mace had escaped. Clearly he hadn’t been successful, but Kit knew his friend better than to think Mace wouldn’t give his life before fleeing. Prodding gently with the Force, he could tell neither Master Kolar nor Master Tinn were alive. He dropped his head, despair washing over him. Just how many Jedi had fallen?

He shook his head. Now was not the time to grieve. He needed to focus on the present with the all the energy he could muster if he were to survive. He looked to the heaps of armored men. He’d need to be extra cautious if these were not the only imposters. It was unlikely they were.

He crawled out of the hall and into the lift, dragging himself up until he was limping heavily. The gash in his left side had cauterized, thankfully, but he sensed there was something darker within the core of the wound and he wouldn’t last long on his feet. Black spots had clouded his vision since he’d risen to a stand. Nonetheless, the stubborn Jedi refused to submit to his fate so easily. Not when he didn’t know who else was out there.

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. The hall of the Senate was absolute chaos. Essentially the lobby of the Senate building, the large “hall” was a giant room that took up the entire floor of the building, meant as a holding area for concerned citizens come to express their grievances to their designated representative. Though, due to both the extensive reach of the Galactic Senate, most systems had separate representatives to meet with the people. Of course, once the war started, it soon became impossible to not have at least one secondary representative. Even with the thousands that came pouring in everyday, the room was so massive that it was never completely filled.

Until now. The crowd was enormous. Kit had seen battalions smaller than this. Everyone- from senators to guards to servants to citizens to droids- all clamored about, scurrying in every direction, bumping into people. There were at least three separate fights as people knocked each other over in the hectic environment, growing violent in the bustling room. People were screaming in fear, getting trampled, exchanging what little information they had with others and demanding explanations from clones who were supposedly standing guard, though remaining stoic and eerily silent, not bothering to help the fallen or the injured, transfixed by some unknown presence within their own minds. Kit shuddered as he ducked past one, fortunate that the crowd managed to hide him from their sight. Luckily no one paid heed to the Jedi groping his way past them towards one of the lesser-known routes to a worker’s hangar. 

The hangar was surprisingly empty considering the tumultuous circumstances. Kit hauled himself into a nondescript ship of average size, hoping to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He quickly made his way to the cockpit and collapsed in the pilot seat. With a start he realized he had no idea where to go. 

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t go to the temple. His very instincts were fighting against the desire to investigate the burning building that represented the center of the Jedi, but something even deeper within warned him of the dangers. If he went now, he would surely be going to his death. For all the despair dwelling in his heart, Kit thought mournfully, he wouldn’t mind death about now.

No. He shook the darkness away. He needed to stay alive- he didn’t know how many Jedi were remaining. If all the clones had indeed turned on them, Kit doubted many survived. With his list of enemies increasing drastically, he realized he wouldn’t be able to go to any Republic outposts, which severely limited his options. He cursed- as friendly as he was, he hadn’t exactly made many acquaintances outside the Republic.

Grimly, he set his course. He wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed, but he was at least halfway certain they wouldn’t kill him on sight. 

He was headed home.

 

-

From space, Glee Anslem looked rather similar to the mineral chrysocolla, found on carbon based planets. The crystal blue water was luminescent even in the depths of the darkness of space, speckled with the occasional stretch of green land. Although it didn’t look inhabited, much less industrialized, the population of Nautolans were located mainly in underwater cities that served as focal points for trade and commerce throughout the Jalor sector. Yet their increased involvement with the Namadii Corridor had recently sprouted several minor cities and towns on land, causing territorial disputes with the Anselmi, who had problems of their own well before the intrusion of the amphibious species. The Jedi were likely to become involved, despite the mutual disdain for off-worlders held by both species, but the Clone Wars had taken up time usually meant for actually keeping the peace. 

Nonetheless, Kit was able to easily locate one of the Nautolan cities and headed for the nearest dock, where the guards had already come to greet the unexpected arrival. Kit stumbled out of the ship, his arm pressing against his crudely wrapped bandages. He’d feared sleeping on the ship, not sure he would wake up, so he’d busied himself attempting to clean his wound. Unfortunately, Kit was far from a medic and all he seemed to be doing was making it hurt more by moving, so he stuck to trying to reach out with the Force to any Jedi stragglers. He grimaced. He knew he’d already pushed himself past his limits- the brief respite from action on the journey hadn’t done much to replenish his vigor. He was draining himself of the Force just trying to keep himself conscious, using more energy to push himself onwards in the past few hours than he’d probably used in the past month of the Clone Wars, and he was definitely feeling the impact. 

The injured Jedi all but collapsed into one of the guard’s arms. The Nautolan discarded his spear, shooting his partner a wary look. “Are you alright?” he asked, returning to the stranger and pressing a hand gently yet firmly against his back to hold him steady. Kit took a moment to assess the two before him. The first guard’s amphibious skin was a light green, not dissimilar to the Jedi’s own color, while the second was a pale blue. Both were in Glee Anselm soldier garb, a uniform Kit had only before seen in pictures as he studied the culture of his homeworld from the distant Coruscant. Their torsos were bare and they had plain knee length shorts, since the ability to move freely was more necessary to a Nautolan warrior than protection, though they had armored tassets hooked to their belts and lightweight arm guards. 

Kit flashed his teeth in a pearly grin. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Though if you were on your way to stopping by a medic, please don’t hold back on my account.”

The first guard huffed, amused by the stranger’s bitter humor. Yet the second nodded slightly to the stranger’s ruined robes and easily distinguishable weapon. “Who are you?” the blue one asked gruffly. 

Kit’s dulled senses hadn’t picked up on the subtle communication between the two. Though thirty years of isolation granted him an excuse as to not being able to recognize the Nautolan’s meaningful eye contact, which was capable of conveying warnings and tidings much faster than verbally. “I’m Jedi Master Kit Fisto. I come from Glee Anselm. This is my home.”

The blue one stiffened. “You haven’t been able to call this home since you left for the temple, Jedi,” he spat.

“Drex!” the other snapped, instinctively tightening his grip protectively around the injured man, who tried not to wince at the pressure.

“Lerel, you heard what they did to the Jedi,” Drex hissed. “If the Republic finds out one of them is with us, they will crush us. It’s not like we need more enemies right now.”

Lerel looked at the man in his arms, who’d gone completely silent, his eyes distant. Lerel could sense the emotion radiating off the Jedi in waves. He didn’t need pheromone-sensing headtails to know he was thinking about the massacre. He frowned resolutely. “He was one of us before he was one of them. We’re taking him to Aki’s.”

Drex grimaced before helping his friend carry the man to the local medic.

 

-

 

Kit Fisto, like the others in his species, was more than accustomed to being underwater. Their gill-like structures on the sides of their heads paired with their humanoid lungs made for a distinguished class of amphibians highly evolved to accommodate the bodily needs to survive on both land and water. No amount of time spent on land could change that. Kit Fisto was a Nautolan through and through.

That didn’t mean it was any less of a shock when he woke up several hundred feet underwater. The Jedi’s eyes shot open and he seized out of bed, floating up a few inches, subconsciously gasping for breath. The sudden movement sent a searing pain running up his side and he cursed admittedly loudly. 

Before he could bring his hand to the offending area, a strong grip quickly grabbed his wrist. Kit didn’t have a chance to register what was happening before he flung the assailant across the room. Physics didn’t work quite the same underwater, but it still worked. Kit jolted up, flailing his limbs in a failed attempt to escape, still not accustomed to the sudden adjustment of moving underwater. 

Suddenly more hands wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him to the bed. “Get him down! Get him down!” He didn’t register the panicked shouts. “Be careful! Sedate him if you have to!” Kit thrashed against the clutches of the restrainers, his hands curled into fists and kicking wildly. There was only one part of his mind that was awake and aware: escape. 

“Don’t antagonize him!” the command was sharp and clear from across the room. Instantly the grasp relaxed on his limbs, though still firm. Kit blinked, the dreary haze clearing from his mind as he began taking in his surroundings. The two guards from before were holding him down gently, as well as three others. When he looked up at them, they seemed to sense his lucidity that his moment of madness had passed. The one he remembered as Lerel looked down at him and smiled comfortingly. Kit looked towards the Nautolan he’d thrown to the side- the one who’d ordered the men to stand down. Her skin was a pale orange and she was in medic garb. The standard Nautolan base clothing was paired with what resembled what could only be a lab coat or something to that effect. 

She grabbed her tablet and came to his bedside, looking down with large, prodding eyes. “Do you know where you are?” Her voice was low and somehow soothing despite its detached clarity. 

He opened his mouth to speak. He had a general idea of where he was, but he didn’t know exactly where-

“Nod your head yes or no,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He blinked before shaking his head no. She raised an eyebrow and tapped her screen. 

“Do you remember coming here?” A hesitant nod.

“Do you remember what happened before coming here?” He grimaced before shaking his head. 

Her gaze softened. She nodded curtly to the guards, who backed off. Kit noticed they were still within arms reach should the Jedi try anything. “You’re Kit Fisto?” He nodded warily. “You’ve been here three weeks. After your unanticipated appearance on the docks, Drex and Lerel brought you to me and you’ve been in a sort of coma ever since. I’m Doctor Aki. I’ve cleaned and bandaged your wounds. You’ve already begun the healing process, which is amplified by your Force-sensitivity. Er, so I’ve read. Anyway, the cut, which is presumably by a lightsaber, didn’t cut through any major arteries or organs, but I’m afraid we’ll need fibronetting to secure some of the areas around the wound just to be safe. It’s the nerve damage that concerns me. We’ll be doing routine tests for the next four to six months to make sure your left leg isn’t experiencing any problems. We need to be careful; any strenuous activity could lead to further disruption of connection between synapses, which we wouldn’t be able to fix. In the meantime, I’d suggest-“

“Are there others?” Kit had always prided himself on being patient in hospitals, especially compared to his fellow Jedi who generally detested med bays as a rule, but he found the doctor’s astute prognosis to be taking a rather long time. 

Dr. Aki frowned and checked her charts. “There weren’t any other wounds that I’m aware of, other than some superficial bruises and scratching-“

“Are there other Jedi? Did any others survive?” He chided himself for being so harsh. The medic’s shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly and none of the guards would meet his eyes. He looked at her desperately. “Did any others survive?” he repeated.

“Not that I know of,” she spoke softly. He rested his head against the pillow and shut his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry. The Jedi have been deemed traitors by Chancellor-“

“Emperor,” a guard coughed.

“-Palpatine. The senate is putting up a reward for all remaining Jedi who survived Order 66.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me yet?” Kit asked through gritted teeth. No one survived? He was painfully aware of the guards’ stares. He hated mourning in front of an audience.

Before the doctor would respond, Lerel spoke up. “You’re a Nautolan. You’re one of us. You always have been and you always will be. We protect our own.”

Kit felt his emotions bubbling to the surface. Grief, that he was the only survivor. Relief, that at least he was safe for now. Guilt, he should have died alongside his family instead of leaving them to die. Shock, as he realized for perhaps the first time that he’d never see his loved ones again. Shame, for being so selfish as to feel such pain for their deaths instead of rejoicing their reunion with the Force. 

Anger, at everyone responsible for this. 

“But it’s not up to us what to do with you,” Dr. Aki broke his disturbing chain of thoughts. “The elders will decide whether to keep you here. But they don’t want to risk the wrath of the Empire.” Kit winced. He realized coming here endangered whoever housed him, but he had nowhere else to go. The medic began unwrapping his bandages and checking his wound. He was in no state to leave on his own. But how could he accept the Nautolans’ kindness knowing what would happen should the Jedi be discovered?

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

 

-

 

The Council of Elders had been a form of authority long before the Republic had decreed mandatory senatorial representation from its territories. Each notable region would elect and send their most well-respected elder, who either achieved such esteemed recognition through wisdom or battle, where they would debate the needs of the people with the morals of the land in order to create various treaties, legislative decrees, and other major decisions involving the wellbeing of the underwater inhabitants of Glee Anselm. 

The reappearance of Kit Fisto was certainly a point of interest among the elders. With the bounty out on all Jedi, harboring the fugitive was certainly dangerous, but the tightly bound nature of Nautolans refused to accept discarding the friendless man. Nautolans were cautious around outsiders as a rule, so an offworld entity demanding the exile of one of their own was not something the elders would normally consider. However, the looming threat of the Intergalactic Senate was not something to be taken lightly. If Master Fisto was discovered, the Empire would not be forgiving to the secretive species. With increased aggression from the Anslemi, the last thing the Nautolans needed was another war. 

The heated arguments weighing the consequences of either action would continue for quite some time, though they’d at last come to one decision: they would not kill the Jedi. Which Kit supposed he should be grateful for. 

The Jedi’s arrival had been kept a secret for precautionary reasons, but, as is the norm with close-knit communities, everyone in the city quickly knew. Information was limited, but spread like wildfire on the Jedi’s circumstances. Some said it was just the remains of the Jedi smuggled from the massacre on Coruscant. It was also rumored the Jedi was secretly training others to fight against the Empire. It was even claimed that the Jedi had bewitched the medic and was holding her hostage until he got what he wanted. Nonetheless, people found themselves paying close attention to Dr. Aki’s for the next few months. 

Kit was restless. Even after over two weeks of being fully conscious, Aki wouldn’t let him do anything requiring any physical exertion whatsoever. The most he could get away with was swimming aimlessly around his room. It wasn’t until the elders finally made their decision that he was allowed to go to other parts of the hospital. It was when Kit was allowed visitors that he finally realized why Aki was so desperate to keep him separated.

Eventually, after the initial swath of curious citizens got their first look at the real-life Jedi, the guards decided to filter out the majority of the adoringly pestilent visitors and well-wishers. Kit was surprised at the sheer amount of cards and flowers he was sent. Although he’d had his fair share of admirers, he hadn’t had such direct gestures of veneration. Nonetheless, he was more than appreciative of the guards preventing the avid enthusiasts from harassing him constantly. 

However, he’d rather face one hundred zealous supporters than the far less cheerful visitors the guards allowed inside. Two families had come to see the Jedi to ask about their sons, who had been taken to the temple as well. Kit knew they just wanted a little information- nothing any parent wouldn’t want from their child. After all, the temple rarely reconnected with the parents, even to inform them of death. But that left the Master woefully unprepared to deliver the frightful news.

Knox’s family came first. The father and mother were clinging to each other with a desperation that made Kit’s heart long for something akin to that kind of companionship- the sort of craving a Jedi only gets after seeing what kind of life they could have led. The family’s remaining child shadowed them closely, though he could no longer be considered a child. He was at least a foot taller than his father and his defined features and odd birthmarks reminded Kit painfully of Knox. His news was undeniably easier to handle, since Kit actually knew with absolute certainty the poor Padawan’s fate. 

Kit stood up at the sight of the family huddled together. “Ex-excuse me,” the mother choked back her sob. “Master Fisto?”

Kit nodded solemnly. Easier or not, this would still be difficult. 

“I’m Jerra and this is my husband, Reynar, and our eldest son, Oden. Our boy Knox was taken to the temple nineteen years ago. Tell me, have you seen our son?” she asked. She laughed softly, though he suspected it was only to keep herself from crying. “I’m sorry. I know we can’t expect you to know every Jedi in the temple, but I figured since he was a Nautolan-“

“It’s alright, ma’am.” Kit raised his hand. “I knew your son.” 

The mother stared at him, her wide eyes filled with hope Kit couldn’t bare to see. Her husband’s grip on her waist grew tighter. Oden scowled darkly at his parents. “See, he’s dead, just like we thought.”

Reynar glanced back at his son, sputtering, “We don’t know that.”

“He said he knew Knox. There’s no point in false hope, father.”

Kit tentatively reached out with the Force, calming the eldest son. His pheromone sensing was heightened underwater, but he found it cruel to practice his untrained skills on the grieving family. Either way, he could sense the Oden was just taking out his sorrows on his parents. “I’m so sorry,” he affirmed. “But your son died a few years before the Empire.”

Jerra gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “What?” she managed, her breathing coming in rapid pants. Her husband’s knuckled paled where he clutched her, his lip quivering. 

“He was on a mission defending a temple on Deveron during the Clone Wars. A manic Zabrak attacked. His body was burned at the temple and he was given many honors-“

“Who cares what honors he was given in death? He’s dead!” Reynar snapped. “Where was his master? Where was his master to protect him from that?”

“Master Halsey died defending your son, on that I can assure you.” He reached for the family, attempting to comfort them.

They flinched away from the Jedi, the two parents retreating back into the hallway, sobbing at the loss of their son. Oden didn’t look up from his feet, but he stayed in the room. “What was he like?” he asked at last.

Kit smiled softly. “He was a sweet boy. He was very protective of others- more so than the other Padawans. And he loved to learn. I don’t think he was tardy to a single class, not even astro-chart readings.”

“How do you know?” he asked quietly.

“I spoke to him every so often. It can be difficult for the less humanoid younglings in the crèche, so I’ve been sort of looking out for him.”

Oden nodded slowly, a sad smile forming from his tired features. “You know, I always wanted a little brother.” His confession was little more than a whisper. Kit found himself at a loss for words as the child- even if he was twenty, he was still a child- followed his parents out the door.

Kit returned to his bed, emotionally exhausted by the encounter. The Jedi had taken away their child without any attempt to ease their pain. Kit had always assumed the parents gladly gave up their children, not stopping to consider the repercussions of losing a child. Even if they were still alive, the children were lost to the parents; they had no way of contacting their family and were shunned from asking too many questions. What kind of cult would rip away a baby from its mother’s arms? 

Before he’d never questioned the sanctity of the Jedi. They were right, and that was that. But lately he found himself evaluating the decisions that led to their downfall. The Jedi took children from all over the galaxy and raised them to be peaceful warriors destined to die on some distant planet far from anything they’d had a chance to call home. They fought fights that weren’t theirs, even long before the events of the Clone Wars. 

Kit had always been told that the purpose of the Jedi was to establish order and maintain peace in a galaxy ravaged by chaos and other elements of the dark- the tendrils of lust and greed and wrath and gluttony had twisted itself into the minds of susceptible being everywhere, calling for the aid of the Jedi just by showing weakness to such evil. Yet none of these sins were lost upon the so-called purity of the Jedi. By claiming moral superiority over all living things, what else could the Council be but arrogant?

His troubling thoughts were interrupted as the doctor came in to check on him. 

A few days later, he received a visit from another anxious family. Zatt’s family was admittedly large, which only seemed to make the news worse, as so many more ears had to hear it. Other than the mother and the father, there were four other children; the oldest seemed to be about seventeen and the youngest couldn’t have been older than twelve. 

“I’m Berut,” the woman introduced herself, her arms wrapped protectively around her children. She was much calmer than Jerra, presumably for her kids’ sakes. 

“I’m Knin,” the father seemed like he was going to shake hands, but thought better of it. He pointed to his children from shortest to tallest. “This is Fip, Rhirru, Yat, and Fresseh.” 

“But we came to ask you about our other child. Zatt? He would’ve been a year younger than Fip, here,” Berut asked. Although her demeanor was serene than the disorderly sorrow from Jerra, the same desperation was still in her eyes. Kit found that eyes were another means of communication that came naturally to Nautolans, but he had yet to refine his skill. 

“Yes, I remember him. He was sweet and charming. He loved those datapads of his,” Kit chuckled lightly, remembering numerous separate occasions where the little Nautolan would run into walls or other people in the halls with his nose stuck to his screen and wrist-deep in mechanical grime. “He was smart, that one.”

Berut nodded. “So he’s gone, then?”

Kit grimaced. “In all likelihood. He was in the temple when the clones attacked.”

“Is there any chance he could have escaped?” the father asked despairingly. He was less successful at keeping up appearances. 

“I- I do not want to give you hope where there is none.”

The parents nodded in unison, quietly containing their devastation. One of the children, Rhirru, piped up. “Was he happy?”

The Jedi was caught off guard by the question. “Yes,” he reasoned. “He had friends and a family. He was happy.”

“I thought we were his family,” Fip looked up at his mother. Berut hushed the child and ushered them out of the room, turning back to give Kit one final nod of thanks. 

Was he happy? Were any of them happy? Kit struggled with the query. Of course they were happy. They led very satisfying lives; they dedicated everything to helping others. They lived surrounded by their friends and people who could sympathize and empathize with them. Due to their strict moral code, nothing controversial was accepted, so there was no possibility of real opposition. They had what were essentially superpowers. They lived ultimately peacefully, defined by the way their lives affected those around them. That was surely happiness.

But were they given a choice otherwise? Their entire lives were dictated by a creed dating back before even the eldest could remember; anything beyond that was forbidden. For all the glory or humility in the world, they had to keep vigil and watch as people outside their little bubble led their lives and truly, truly lived. They suffered through love and loss and failure and favor. Yet the Jedi weren’t allowed any of that. They were told, under no exceptions, to completely bind themselves to their duty until the line between idea and man had become blurred beyond perception. 

The most alive Kit had ever felt was with Nahdar and the secret love he’d harbored for the boy. Not every master felt such patriarchal affection for their padawan, but Kit knew he certainly did. And until Nahdar ’s death, Kit hadn’t known true pain. Certainly he’d gone through physical suffering, but that was nothing compared to the agonizing loss of what he considered to be his child. Yet, for all that despair and wretchedness, Kit wouldn’t trade all of those moments of bliss and serenity for anything in the galaxy. Perhaps what he’d been told was happiness all this time was nothing but ignorance. Perhaps true happiness lie in the forbidden- in love. 

Kit was once again roused from his thoughts by the medic. Dr. Akri poked and prodded at the oddly silent Jedi. Over the past few weeks, Akri had grown rather accustomed to the patient’s near constant chatter. She frowned down at the man as she changed his bandages. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

The Jedi took a moment before responding, running a hand over his face and blinking rapidly. “Why are all the Jedi the youngest children?” 

Dr. Akri looked down at him. “I imagine giving a child away and never seeing it again is no different than losing one. There’s rarely a recovery for that.”

Kit shut his eyes for a moment before gazing back up at the doctor, whose brow had furrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, returning to her datapad. “It’s just curious how you blink. Nautolans don’t usually blink. In some parts of the galaxy it’s debated that we even have eyelids. But I suppose it’s a cultural habit you picked up on Coruscant.”

Kit exhaled. “It’s ridiculous that I’m estranged from my own people. I have to relearn my own culture, my own identity. I hadn’t even noticed that’s why people have been looking at me funny until now.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she chuckled. “That’s not the only reason people are looking at you funny.”

He shot her a look, which only made her look even more smug. He rolled his eyes. 

 

-

 

The doctor was accompanied by Lerel and Drex on her next visit. Kit frowned and sat up, sensing something was amiss. “What’s wrong?” 

Dr. Akri sighed. “The elders haven’t been able to come to a decision. Senator Darsana won’t hear any more arguments. He’s coming from Coruscant to assess the situation himself and hopefully spur the elders into a more authoritative roll.”

“So he’s coming to kick me out?” 

“No,” Lerel said, his comforting grin firmly in place. With a start, Kit realized he used to grin just like that not so long ago. “He’s just coming to put more pressure on the elders.”

“That being said,” Drex added with a friendly smirk, “try not to get on his bad side. It wouldn’t hurt for him to like you. It’d make our job a lot easier.”

“And what’s your job?” 

“To protect you.” Drex stated confidently.

The Jedi blinked, causing Dr. Akri to laugh. A knock on the door disrupted the four and another guard swam into the room. “You have a visitor, Master Fisto.”

Dr. Akri nodded to Kit as they left the room, passing a woman holding a curious bundle in her arms. The female Nautolan was petite- smaller than most women he’d seen here. Her robes were weathered and cheap, clearly from years of wear. “Master Fisto?” Her voice was high and nearly shaking. He could sense the anxiety coming off of her in waves. 

“What is it?”

“My name is Arcaena. I need your help.” He hadn’t even recognized the third life form in the room until a split second before she revealed the contents of the blanket. 

It was a baby. A beautiful baby boy with almost iridescent blue skin. Kit sensed something different about the boy and, with a start, realized the child was Force sensitive. He looked at the woman in astonishment. Did she know the risks of bringing the child here?

Of course she did, he realized, that’s why she’s here.

“Please, I need your help. You need to take this baby.”

Kit was startled. “What?”

“Please, I can’t take care of him. You need to protect him.” Her eyes were watering. “Please. The father is gone and I don’t know what else to do. They’ll find him and they’ll hurt him, I know this in my heart. He’s too strong for me. They’re too strong for me. Please. You’re a Jedi; he’s one of you! 

He found himself at a loss. Her emotional tirade seemed genuine, as did her helplessness. “I- I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Take him,” she urged, thrusting the baby towards him. 

 

-

 

Kit had turned away, saying he needed time to think about it. The woman had given him on last desperate look before leaving him alone. How could she want to give away her own child? He swept a hand over his face. She had never even referred to the child by his name. He couldn’t believe that a mother could really hate her child, but he believed that a mother could fear him. 

It occurred to him that Arcaena must love her child immensely to be willing to give him up for his own safety. She viewed herself as weak and incapable of handling such a responsibility. Then again, it was rare for a Force sensitive child grew up outside the realm of the Jedi temple. She had every right to be scared, especially with the rumored Jedi hunters relentlessly searching the galaxy for any stragglers. The news of the hunters came as both a blessing and a curse: there were enough survivors to warrant special operatives, but these hunters were likely highly trained and ruthless unlike anything they’d ever seen before. It takes more than strength to kill a Jedi- it takes cunning. Kit’s own experiences with sadistic bounty hunters led him to believe it wouldn’t be long before the Jedi’s already painfully low numbers dwindled down to nothing. 

Kit shuddered to think what would happen to a child that was found- likely something far worse than death. Force sensitive children had always been coveted, especially for slavers and other traffickers. But he doubted the Empire would be so merciful. His thoughts dwelled on Maul, who he knew spent his adolescence tortured beyond all imagining to keep him firmly in the clutches of evil. For all the wrongs the Jedi had done, at least they had not tormented children, he thought. Manipulated and sent off to war? Yes. But not this. 

Kit’s musings were cut short by a curt knock on the door. Kit rose as guards lined the room, eyeing them cautiously- these were not the guards he had grown accustomed to and he couldn’t see Lerel or Drex anywhere. No, these were more than just your average soldiers. Unlike the regular city guards, these had chest plates and helms, designed for maximum protection. It didn’t take Kit long to figure out that this wasn’t for fighting- it was for defense. Should the object under their care come under fire, it was these men who would throw themselves at the danger, sacrificing themselves. It didn’t take a Jedi to figure out what kind of rank would be deserving of such dedication.

“Senator Darsana,” the Jedi bowed respectfully, risking a glance up at his new visitor. 

A far cry from the rags that clung to the begging mother, the Anselmi was adorned with fanciful clothing. Despite the uncomfortable material needed to make the outfit waterproof and pressurized, the suit had a discreet elegance fitting for a royal senator. The only thing that really threw off the look was the rather large helmet allowing the much more human-like humanoid to breath underwater, though he supposed that couldn’t be helped. Through the glass, Kit could see the Anselmi features: large dark spots peppering the edges of the face in an almost reptilian pattern, the sporadic patches of muted feathers indicative of a stressful daily process, the dark small eyes bereft of the emotion that was so blatantly obvious in the Nautolans’, the nose slits humming dutifully and the thin mouth pursed into something not quite resembling a frown. Kit grimaced when he realized the whole Jedi situation was probably doing a little to dampen his mood.

“Master Jedi.” The Anselmi were known to have liquid voices. Kit would’ve thought liquid voices underwater wouldn’t sound as nice as it did, but the soothing drone was nearly enough to disarm the Jedi. “I’m pleased to finally meet you at last. I must admit we’ve been somewhat following your exploits since you left us all those years ago. We’re proud that such a mighty warrior has come from our world.”

Kit put on a nice smile, preparing himself for the tedium of politics. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”

There was a glimmer in the Senator’s eye. “An honor to be a warrior, to be watched, or to hail from here?” Kit blinked stupidly. Darsana chuckled, bringing his elongated fingers to tap on his own shoulder, his elbow resting on his arm. “Tell me, Master Fisto, what brought you to our humble star system after the fall of the Jedi?”

Kit repressed a gulp, but still found himself appreciative of the man’s directness. “I had nowhere else to go,” he admitted. “Nowhere else to go but home.”

The Anselmi nodded thoughtfully and began pacing the room slowly. “You’ve brought a great danger to my people by coming here. It’s not a secret that relations between the Nautolans and the Anselmi are tense right now. The last thing we need is unwanted attention from the Empire.”

“So it is unwanted?” 

“While we could easily agree that any attention from fascists is unwanted, I’m afraid the safety of the people is worth more than any petty personal vendetta I may have, don’t you agree?”

Kit flushed, embarrassed that his sorry excuse for a negotiating strategy had been found out so quickly. He’d hoped to rely on the senator’s well-known spite for the chancellor, now emperor, as a way to weasel his way into the senator’s good favor. He cursed himself for not listening more closely to Kenobi’s prattling on the intricacies of rhetoric. Instead he realized this meeting would be safer as a one-way conversation. “Yes,” he said stiffly.

“Should the Empire get word of your presence, they would no doubt bring a swift and destructive end to your residence, which would certainly end in collateral damage. The Republic has never been known for its discretion in such matters and I’m afraid the brutality has only increased with the transformation into a much more regimented regime.”

“Yes, sir,” Kit thought of the innocent casualties suffered at the hands of Republic troops, including his own, in the past five years. The cries of dying children echoed through his mind. 

“As much as I pity your position, you must do well to understand ours. I’m afraid we can’t have you here without endangering the lives of our people.”

“I understand.” Kit understood more than the senator could ever know.

“My hands are tied. The fact is, I swore an oath to the Republic.”

“So did I.”

The senator paused and Kit noticed for the first time that he seemed genuinely concerned for him. “I’m sorry we can’t do more. Ultimately it is up to the elders to decide, but I will ensure that they at least allow you to remain until your wounds have fully healed.”

Kit subconsciously pressed his hand to his side. “And if they decided I would stay longer?”

Darsana sighed and reached to scratch his neck, startled when his hand thudded lightly against the glass helmet. “I’d present your case to the senate and, should it come to that, we’d gather our warriors and prepare for invasion.”

Kit was silent as the senator nodded respectfully and left the room, his entourage not two steps behind. 

 

-

 

They would not survive a war, Kit thought, looking out his window at the glowing depths of the city. The fact that his staying was still a debate was proof enough that there were those willing to fight and die for him. At least one or more of the elders were adamant about him remaining and would give up Glee Anselm’s fairly pacifistic ideals in order to protect him. 

Kit couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t just sit back and watch as these wonderful, colorful, benevolent people threw their lives away for him. Even beyond the code of the Jedi, that was just something that Kit wouldn’t consider from a moral standpoint. He’d grown up his entire life knowing he would die to protect those in need. What kind of hypocrite would he be if he allowed these people to sacrifice themselves for him? 

Of course, Kit wasn’t so selfish as to think this was all about him. The authoritative totalitarian government the Republic turned into had cast doubts in the mind of every free star system. Whispers of a Rebel alliance growing to oppose the looming evil of the Empire were suddenly solidified as reports of increased attacks on trooper convoys and Imperial outposts trickled in from around the galaxy. Raids far too numerous for the standard pillaging of pirates could only mean the rise of some league of insurgencies to combat the toxic spread of the Emperor’s curling fingers. More and more star systems were secretly aligning themselves with the traitors, giving more validity to the defense of any remaining Jedi. 

Of course, what were the Jedi? What were they other than reminders of a broken past? The Jedi, for all their esteem and regard, were nothing compared to the lengths of the mistakes they made. Over the weeks Kit had spent on Glee Anselm, observing real people and real places, he realized just how much had been taken from him. His chance at real life had been stripped, as had all the others who were so easily deceived by the cunning lies set up by the Jedi. Yet after generation upon generation of practitioners, was it even a lie anymore? The empty promises of peace and prosperity had their own merit merely by surviving for the centuries that it did. The vibrance and joy they had all sworn to uphold was nothing but a dull throbbing of mutilated abstention. How could Kit blame the Council for merely abiding by the only lie they’d ever known?

Did that allow Kit to continue the cycle? Kit was barely a knight himself before he’d taken on young Nahdar as his padawan. The headstrong little runt was so full of life and energy. He would’ve given anything to see what he would have become without the binding tenants of the Jedi. The Mon Calamari pupil was so eager to please; there was nothing he wanted more than to gratify his master. It was that determined altruism that led to his downfall.

Kit hadn’t been able to teach him how to deal with the pressure of concealing his emotions. Instead, Nahdar became an unstable deity susceptible to eruptions of anger stemming from his own inability to suppress his unimaginable powers. With so much pure vitality and no outlet, Nahdar became yet another victim of the Jedi’s cruel inadequacies. He couldn’t do that to another child. He wouldn’t.

He thought of Arcaena and the boy she’d do anything but live for. As the baby grew into his powers, it would begin drawing more attention. Arcaena would live in fear of the day the Empire would find them and take her child away. Eventually the mother would grow wary of strangers’ glances, suspicious of everyone and everything that showed the merest hint of curiosity in the boy. At last, overwhelmed by the claustrophobic weight of eyes on her and her son, she’d leave. She’d gather up her minimalist resources and travel throughout the galaxy, slowly selling herself away to care for the pair. They’d be hunted relentlessly. The child, as he grew up, would live to see his mother’s misery and would blame himself for it, going so far as wishing death upon himself if it would ease her suffering. He’d do everything he could to help her, but she wouldn’t allow it. His exposure left too much up to chance; if he was found, she would lose everything. He was all she had left. She was all he ever knew. So she continued killing herself to keep them afloat and he would wait out his days in little more than a prison, hiding from the world. His capture would be inevitable. They would find him and rip him from his mother’s grasp. It wouldn’t matter if they killed her- she was dead anyway. In truth, she had died long ago. Only the love for her son was keeping her together, like a thin thread holding a ruined tapestry. His loss would devastate her beyond all imagining. Whether they killed him or forced him into becoming something far worse, she’d be left to suffer a fate worse than death.

Knowing all his, Kit couldn’t bring himself to take the child. He may be wrong by not accepting the responsibility, but he wouldn’t be making the same mistakes he’d made in the past. He wouldn’t ruin a child’s life by subjugating him to the one he had. Not anymore.

His decision was made. Late at night, he gathered up a few basic materials and snuck out of the hospital. He ran to one of the docking ports and boarded a ship, stealing away before anyone could know he was missing. Kit hesitated as he thought of Dr. Akri and Drex and Lerel and all the other friends he had made here. He shook his head and clasped the controls resolutely. He wouldn’t allow people to suffer because of him any longer. He wouldn’t give them that choice. 

He didn’t know where he would go, but it would be far away from here.


	3. Epilogue

Aaron opened his eyes at the man’s silence. “Is that it?” he asked, unwilling to admit that he’d wanted an ending with a little more closure than that. 

The figure turned his head to face the clone. “No, I suppose not. But it’s getting late and you have regained your strength.”

Aaron stood up, grimacing and clutching his ribs. He contemplated for a moment. “Why did you tell me this?”

The figure shrugged. “You don’t seem that different from Kit, to me.” He chuckled as Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Come now, it’s just a story. Just a silly old story some poor sop on the street made up.”

Aaron scowled. “Why?”

“A man once said to me, ‘You don’t know real loss until you love something more than yourself.’ Neither of us knew at the time that I loved everything more than myself because I was undeserving of love. I grew up in a world where I meant nothing. That was all I knew. So when I lost my world, I lost everything that I thought had meaning. But in reality, I still had the most important thing in the galaxy: myself. The world doesn’t end just because you die. Why should you end just because the world dies? I had the ability to breathe love into a new reality, and, after many years of trying to remember how, I did. Oh, I did.” The hooded figure, despite the shadows concealing his face, still managed to stare directly at the clone. “We are not so different, you and I. We are so much more than what we were told. We are so much more than our maker.” 

Aaron found himself getting frustrated at the man’s remarks. All his life he’d been told he was worth nothing, that he was just a number. If he lost the only thing that he’d ever known, the only thing he’d identified with, he was nothing. He may be a sorry excuse for an absconder, but at least he still had that much. Angrily, he spat at the ground beneath the tattered figure and stormed off, determined to find his way home.

He was nothing. He was nothing. 

He’d never been told differently. 

He’d always taken that mantra with a grain of salt. As he fought alongside his brothers defending the innocent and fighting for the righteous, he knew that, with them, he was more than a number. He was a part of something good and glorious, and that made him at least part good and glorious. He’d always thought that. But when he woke up from that horrible trance all those years ago to find the horrors he’d done, he finally believed them. He was a tool. A pathetic little manipulated pawn created for the sole purpose of being used in a millennia-old feud that had nothing to do with him. He was insignificant. None of anything he’d done in his entire life had any meaning or purpose. He believed that. 

 

-

 

The next day the old Jedi woke up. Of course, it was impossible to tell what day it was so deep in the Underworld, but Kit liked to think he could tell when the sun rose. He smiled as a grimy little loth cat bounded up to him. He admired the undeterred vigor of the creature. No matter what traumas it had suffered through, it still managed to look up at him with those hopeful eyes. He smirked as the loth cat’s purrs as he began scratching its striped back. 

Suddenly, it bounded away. The Nautolan grinned. “Back for another story?”

For the first time in years, Aaron smiled. “Maybe just one more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again- let me know if you're interested in the series!


End file.
